


The Future Is Bright

by paeanrela



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paeanrela/pseuds/paeanrela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek were in San Francisco when the first kaiju came through the Rift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Future Is Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf/Pacific Rim fusion. Not beta read and very quickly written, no reasons given for why they are actually in San Francisco and certainly not why it's just the two of them. Let's all just suspend our disbelief for now.

“Derek, can you hear me? Hey, come on, don’t be dead, oh my god, _Derek!_ ”

The voice is fuzzy bright crackling in the darkness and he regains consciousness slowly, his brain coming back online with frustrating slowness. He can’t think, can’t remember what happened or where he is. He quietly panics as he waits for information to filter in, bright flashes of pain making him aware that he’s hurt in some way, but not so intense as to think it’s fatal. 

Probably.

“Derek, come on, please, open your eyes or something, I can’t begin to describe to you how very much we need to be somewhere else right now and if I die because you can’t be fucked to wake up-- _wake up!_ ”

That has him stirring, alarm prickling at the back of his neck and he finally manages to crack one eye open, squinting painfully at the assault of sudden light. 

The smell of smoke hits him a second later. The distant sounds of panic and destruction are a very close third. 

Stiles’ face comes into focus above him, streaked with dirt and what looks like blood, yes, blood; he can smell it now, smeared across his left temple. He tries to reach up, check the wound, but his right arm isn’t working and it only takes a twitch to realize it’s broken.

"What happened?” He winces, his voice rasping from his throat painfully and he can taste the tang of iron on his tongue. 

Stiles makes a helpless noise, choked and skirting dangerously close to hysterical, staring at Derek with wide eyes that speak of his ignorance.

“Huge earthquake, giant freaking monster attacking San Francisco, it’s the end of the world, I don’t know, where do you want me to start? I should have known trying to get away from Beacon Hills for even a weekend would blow up in my face. The Golden Gate is gone, Derek! Just…gone.” Derek watches as something in Stiles’ expression crumbles, fear and frustration making him look unbearably young. And then it shifts into something more familiar, more comforting. 

Self-righteous annoyance. 

“I thought you were dead, you asshole, no one should be able to survive being buried under the amount of concrete I had to dig you out of!”

Derek pushes himself up carefully, privately cataloging all the things currently wrong with his body and how long they were taking to heal. A broken arm, a splitting headache, and his chest hurt like hell. 

He wasn't going to apologize to Stiles, he remembered enough to know that he'd been in the position only because he'd been trying to protect him from the fate he'd apparently suffered instead. 

The broken arm was starting to sting as the bones re-knit, his body moving on from repairing the worst of his wounds (he doesn’t really want to contemplate how bad it must have been to knock him unconscious) and starting to work on the less fatal problems.

Taking in their surroundings he realizes they are cocooned in the rubble of what was once probably a very large building. Brick and broken glass lie all around them; a twisted pipe is leaking a spray of water that is aimed away from them, creating a stream that cuts through the dust and dirt, disappearing into a pile of concrete. The smell of blood is stronger now as his senses begin to sharpen, full awareness gradually returning. 

He hears Stiles swallow, hears him standing and drawing closer to Derek. “A lot of people are dead,” he says soberly and Derek looks to him, eyes skating over his face, pale under the grime.

“But we’re not,” Derek says quietly and he knows Stiles hears the _yet_ he doesn’t bother voicing. He knows there’s a very good chance that it might only be a matter of time. More than likely a very short matter of time.

They both freeze when the echoing roar of whatever creature had attacked the city rumbles over them, distant but still too close for comfort. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it before he'd been down for the count but he remembers the shadow, the massive bulk that had been too large to even fully comprehend, a monolith of impossible terror.

Stiles sucks in a breath, breaking the spell. He licks his lips and Derek watches him, waiting. 

“Nope, we’re not," Stiles says. "Totally all for keeping it that way.”

Derek doesn't smile, just looks at Stiles and nods sharply. It seems to comfort the teenager, some sort of tension loosening, fear giving way to grim determination. They are both pretty good at keeping the other alive, they can get through this.

Together.


End file.
